


Playing House

by CrunchySalad



Category: Trigun
Genre: M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 08:36:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrunchySalad/pseuds/CrunchySalad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>For the prompt:</em>
</p><p>They want to stay out of trouble for a while. For real. Domestic life and desperate sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing House

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [Fantomas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantomas/pseuds/Fantomas) in the [ficstogo](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/ficstogo) collection. 



> Written for a [ficstogo](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/ficstogo/profile) prompt.

They want to stay out of trouble for a while. No Legato, no tangling with random criminals, no nothing. Just them and a cottage outside of town, far enough away that the villagers will never come by.

On the first day, they watch from their front porch as their hired transportation leaves. A wooden contraption, little more than a platform on wheels, that looks like it could fall apart at any moment.The roly-poly man driving it waves as it sputters away, clouds of dirt and dust left dancing in its wake. They wave back before going inside to see this place they've rented.

One room, not counting the bathroom. A bed large enough for the both of them. A little iron stove and wooden pantry that suffice as the kitchen. A table and some chairs. More than either of them really need. There are even some supplies scattered around, the most amusing of which is a frilly pink apron that Vash makes Wolfwood put on. Vash laughs and Wolfwood scowls, but Wolfwood keeps in on when he cooks dinner that night, dinner being beans and rice. The only things they have right now.

They're dirty and tired from traveling all day, so after dinner they take a bath that leaves the leftover water an ugly black. Then they fall into bed, asleep as soon as their bodies hit the covers.

On the second day, they see if they can find any food without having to go into town for it. Several hours later, they have a cornucopia. Wild mushrooms and buried potatoes and some kind of roadkill found on the nearby road, not to mention the preserved fruit they find in the pantry. Wolfwood promises a feast fit for a king. A few hours after that, they sit at the table eating things that can only "lumpy" and "black." Vash realizes that Wolfwood isn't as good of a cook as he thinks he is.

On the third day, they strip naked so that they can do laundry. They walk nude to a watering hole they found the day before. They throw all their clothes into the clear, cold water, and they jump in after. The water's freezing but it feels good in the midday heat. And with no currents to carry anything away, they can swim and splash and scrub clothes at their leisure.

When Wolfwood gets out, Vash makes a joke about shrinkage. Wolfwood makes a comment about how he, at the least, has something sizable enough to shrink down. They walk back to the cottage, heavy piles of fabric in their arms, and spend the afternoon hanging their things from the clothesline. When they finish Wolfwood sits there and thinks about how the sight of drying fabric billowing in the sun is more satisfying than it should be. Vash immediately falls asleep on the ground. When Vash wakes up he's sunburnt in places he never thought he'd be sunburnt in, his scars all the more noticeable a white against his parched, red skin.

Wolfwood has dinner—beans and tortillas—waiting for the both of them, and as they eat the sun goes down. The cold seeps in. They go back to the clothesline, but everything is still wet. They realize that they might have started the laundry too late. Vash fires up the stove, Wolfwood huddles underneath the too thin blankets, and they both bemoan the other's lack of planning.

The fourth day, Vash shoots some kind of bird out of the sky. It's big and mangy-looking, feathers an ugly shade of shit brown, a good chunk of its body vaporized where the bullet blew it to pieces.

"You think it's edible?" Vash asks.

Wolfwood puts the apron on and starts to cook. Later, when they take turns yelling at each other to "hurry up in the bathroom already" and the cottage stinks to high heaven, they realize that the answer to Vash's question is a resounding "no."

On the fifth day, they go into town. It takes an hour to walk to the road, another hour before they see a driver, and an hour after that before they see a driver willing to give them a ride. Once there, they make a beeline to the tavern and enjoy a hearty, home-cooked meal, no beans in sight. Vash eats a small mountain of doughnuts. After lunch they play with some children in the town square, then it's time to go shopping.

Some bullets, some tools, some water. Wolfwood eyes a cut of pork and it reminds Vash to buy a cookbook. Eventually their arms are loaded with supplies and groceries. Just enough to last them a week or two. They go back to the tavern to eat dinner, where Vash decides to have doughnuts as his entrée this time. They decide to spend the night in town and head back early the next morning.

Before they retire for the night, though, they decide to see a movie. They sit in a dark room as the projectionist scrolls through the film, his arm perpetually turning. From the front of the room a pianist accompanies the moving pictures with a proper score. On the screen, the heroine is kidnapped by the evil villain and nearly forced off a high tower. Off-screen, Vash falls asleep on Wolfwood's side, his drool falling onto the shoulder of Wolfwood's suit jacket. When Wolfwood finds the stain, later in their room, he swears they'll never go see a movie together again.

On the sixth day, they have to cook the pork before it goes bad. They don't have an ice box, after all, and even if they did they have no one who would deliver ice to them. Vash flips through the cookbook and realizes they don't have most of the ingredients they need. Going back into town is out of the question, so they scavenge up some things that seem similar and decide to leave other things out. When they're finished, the pork is a golden brown color and the cottage smells better than it ever has. They sit down to eat, and it tastes. . . edible.

"We can actually make something decent if we work together," Vash says with a grin.

Wolfwood pauses. "Are you saying there's something wrong with my usual cooking?"

On the seventh day, Wolfwood catches a. . . well, wolf. Vash wonders out loud if they can domesticate it. Wolfwood gives him a look like he's an idiot and tells him domestication takes at least a few generations. Vash decides to try anyway. He names the wolf Nicholas D. Wolfwood the Second, Nick Two for short. Wolfwood gets out the first aid kid.

Attempt to get Nick Two to play catch: a small cut and two stitches.

Attempt to get Nick Two on a makeshift leash: several rather nasty looking bites.

Attempt to get Nick Two to eat from Vash's hand: blood, blood, and more blood.

Wolfwood moves a needle through Vash's flesh, reattaching things the best he can, an "I told you so" clear in his eyes. They watch as Nick Two, seemingly bored of them by now, strides away.

"It's too bad," Vash says. "I've always wanted to keep a pet."

On the eighth day, they spend almost every moment from sunrise to sunset laying in a hammock. It's too nice a day to do anything else. The sun is out, the heat is tempered by a cool breeze, and it's too easy to lose themselves in so many perfect moments. They sleep and do other things, their limbs tangled as they rest in a stretch of fabric as blue as the sky above them, content to be lazy. Grateful that it's even an option.

On the ninth day, Wolfwood strums some kind of stringed instrument while sitting on their porch. Vash sits beside him. It's a hot and humid night and Wolfwood's an awful musician. Still, at least it's something to listen to, something besides the quiet emptiness that stretches out all around them. Vash tells him he sucks and Wolfwood tells Vash to shut up already. He keeps playing and Vash keeps listening.

This place, somehow, it's growing on them. They both wonder how long this will last, this thing that's as close to home as either of them have felt in a long time. Neither of them is naive enough to think that it will last for much longer. Wolfwood has people he needs to kill. Vash has Knives to deal with.

"I don't want to leave this place," Wolfwood doesn't say.

"We have to," Vash doesn't answer.

And, like that, they maintain some sort of equilibrium, some kind of delusion where this is their world and everything outside of it doesn't matter. Wolfwood reaches out to trace the scars on Vash's leg and he thinks, _I'll be able to touch him like this every day_. Vash tangles his fingers in Wolfwood's shirt and thinks, _He'll always be within reach like this_. And they both believe it because, in that moment, they can. They both believe it because, come morning, they won't be able. Dreams are, after all, the province of the night, and they were sure to crumble in the sun's light.

Without saying anything they head toward the bed, shedding clothes along the way. Once they hit the mattress they're both completely nude and achingly hard. Wolfwood takes his time licking his way over every scar on Vash's body, committing every one to memory in case he doesn't get another chance. Vash's skin is sticky sweet and Wolfwood wants to taste every drop. Vash buries his fingers in Wolfwood's hair, buries his nose in Wolfwood's nape, breathing him in as much as possible, as though it is possible to inhale another man.

In time their bodies are intimately connected. Wolfwood moves inside of Vash and it hurts, but Vash doesn't want it to end. And it's okay because when it's over, when he feels raw and full of come, Wolfwood gives him a blowjob that leaves him unconscious for half a second. Afterward they're a tangle of flesh without bones, melting into the mattress as they drift off to sleep.

On the tenth day, a vehicle appears on the horizon. A little steel thing in a huge dust cloud. Neither knows who it is, neither knows what it's about, but they both realize it can only bring bad things. So much, they think, for staying out of trouble.


End file.
